


Chrysalis

by Whispering_Sumire



Category: Daredevil (TV), Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Defenders (Marvel TV), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alien Culture, Aliens, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, BAMF Loki (Marvel), BAMF Wade Wilson, Brotherhood, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Daredevil is kind of a Stalker, Deadpool being Deadpool, Drinking, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Families of Choice, Family Feels, Feels, Foggy Nelson Is a Good Bro, Food Porn, Friendship, Good Loki (Marvel), Handwaving, Implied/Referenced Bullying, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Torture, Internalized Bullying, Loki (Marvel) Feels, Loki (Marvel) is Misunderstood, Loki (Marvel) is a Vigilante, Loki (Marvel)-centric, M/M, Magic, Manipulative Nick Fury, Misunderstandings, Mutants, New York has the patience of a saint, Odin (Marvel)'s A+ Parenting, Original Character(s), Protective Wade Wilson, References to Depression, SHIELD, Space Opera themes, Suicidal Thoughts, Superheroes, Supervillains, Teamwork, Vigilantism, Young Peter Parker, finding yourself
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-16
Updated: 2018-08-03
Packaged: 2019-06-11 16:10:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15319224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whispering_Sumire/pseuds/Whispering_Sumire
Summary: HehatedThor, for his stupidity, for his specieism, for the idea that, if Thor ever knew what he was, he'd do much worse than calling what he did with his seiðr 'tricks', worse than letting his friends belittle him, worse than allowing some of the things Odin had done to him, worse than it all, Thor wouldhatehim, may wellkillhim, anddamnhim. Damn his ignorance and his arrogance and how Gods damnedbelovedhe was. It wasn't fair, none of it wasfairand-Loki will grant, here, that in his grief-induced madness, he lost, at the very least, three-quarters of his former maturity. He is not proud of this, but if he is honest with himself in his retelling, he got quite a bit childish, there, with his reasons for hating Thor, and his sudden yearning to destroy Jötunheimr, his, very simplistic, idea that, perhaps, he could con Odin into loving him by doing what he thought would most please him. And if that was destroying the planet of monsters he hated, and becoming hisonly optionamong sons to love, well...The reasoning makes no sense now, but at the time, he wasn't really in his right mind, was he?[Tags and Rating will be subject to change.]





	1. Uncaged, But Not Unhinged

**Author's Note:**

> This is... I honestly don't know.
> 
> My first dip in the Marvel fandom, written mostly because my writers-block was sooooooooo bad, and...
> 
> Well. I hope you enjoy? lol
> 
> Trigger Warning: Loki has been abused, bullied, and tortured throughout his life, I have _no idea_ how into that we're going to get, so, please, please beware. Frigga died, and Loki has lots of feels about that, if you don't think you can handle that, turn away; he's also passively suicidal and mildly depressed, so, just, be careful, please.

Loki is tired.

He is tired of making excuses for himself and others, he's tired of feeling... He's _exhausted_ with being the villain, truly.

Which makes no sense, when you consider that he is, indeed, a monster. The ice in his veins and the lies on his tongue, every story he's ever been told, every despicable thing he's ever done.

 _I am Jötunn, I am evil, watch me... defy_.

He wonders, sometimes, if the truth is better or worse, for the truth is this:

Loki did not want the throne, he did _not_. It is true he wanted respect, perhaps, even, love, and if he could not have it from his immediate family, having it from the people might've been nice, but he knew the responsibility a reign would entail, and he was unsuited for it. Politics were easy to play, but he had a hard time reconciling himself with idiocy, and an even harder time dealing with _people_ \- for all that he was good at it. He had _become_ good at it in order to _survive_ , and there is no fun, comfort, or kindness in simply _surviving_. He was of the ambitious sort, or the selfish sort, he supposed, because he would've liked to have some happiness.

He would've been a good king, maybe, but an unhappy one.

Thor, in the beginning, wouldn't have been any good _at all;_ within one month of Odinsleep he would've had them at war and so much more, diplomacy was not his trade, tact was not his ally, and in his ignorance, brashness, and hubris, he wouldn't have brought any good to Asgard, only war. And Asgard was his _home_ , her people were _his_ people. So, though he had no cravings for that throne, and, in fact, many misgivings toward it- because he had seen the decisions it wrought, and he _knew_ what power _did_ to people- he played a trick, as he was wont to do.

Thor and Odin went along _perfectly_ , right up until the last moment. He'd known the _end_ of his trick would be unpredictable- he'd shown Odin what a mistake it was to push Thor to the throne so early- he wasn't ready- but his punishment for his brashness, and who would have the throne instead? That was all up to the All-Father.

He thinks, in the beginning, before he'd seen the horror of his real-skin bleed through, before the implications had shaken him to his very core, that he'd had vague ideas about Thor being punished mildly- he was always favored, and punishments dealt on his head were never severe overmuch, Loki had become accustomed to it, had stopped questioning it, for all that it stung, a bit- and Frigga, perhaps, becoming acting regent for a time, then, when Odin woke up, maybe he'd take Thor being a lovable dunderhead- which did not, exactly, a good king make- a little more seriously, and there, his work would be done. It was not, as everyone must think now, a malicious endeavor.

Or, at least, it hadn't started out as one. Loki was a master strategist, but even his plans oft did not survive an encounter with the enemy.

So, the punishment was much, much harsher than he'd thought it would be, and, somehow, Loki got a crown and a throne he wouldn't have, under normal circumstances, _wanted_. But they _weren't_ normal circumstances any longer, because Odin was asleep, and he could not speak with Thor- even if he had been there, for his hatred of the Jötunn, as far as Loki knew, ran _deep_ \- and Loki was _spiralling_.

So, now he knew what he was, but not the circumstances, or much else, excepting his own history, and the stories he'd read, heard, the experiences he'd lived.

Which led him to several theories.

Most told him that his father did not love him, he was most likely a political pawn, and this made too many things make a poisonous, terrifying sort of sense. Of _course_ his father would treat him more harshly, severely, than Thor, he was a war-prize, same as the Casket of Ancient Winters, he was a _monster_ , and, would, eventually- if his guess was correct- either be abandoned to Jötunheimr as a puppet-king or a spy or some such other, along with the return of the Casket, only returned under the pretense that someone Asgard 'trusted' was on hand to watch them with it, or, less likely, be set up as Thor's advisor, and forced into a marriage that would, somehow, ally _three_ realms, instead of just two. Odin was clever, and ever so sly, Loki wouldn't put anything past him.

And, in coming to those conclusions, making those assumptions, his heart _broke_ , and took his mind with it.

He _hated_ Thor, for his stupidity, for his specieism, for the idea that, if Thor ever knew what he was, he'd do much worse than calling what he did with his seiðr 'tricks', worse than letting his friends belittle and, sometimes, beat him, worse than allowing some of the things Odin had done to him, worse than it all, Thor would _hate_ him, may well _kill_ him, and _damn_ him. Damn his ignorance and his arrogance and how Gods damned _beloved_ he was. It wasn't fair, none of it was _fair_ and--

Loki will grant, here, that in his grief-induced madness, he lost, at the very least, three-quarters of his former maturity. He is not proud of this, but if he is honest with himself in his retelling, he got quite a bit childish, there, with his reasons for hating Thor, and his sudden yearning to destroy Jötunheimr, his, very simplistic, idea that, perhaps, he could con Odin into loving him by doing what he thought would most please him. And if that was destroying the planet of monsters he hated, and becoming his _only option_ among sons to love, well...

The reasoning makes no sense now, but at the time, he wasn't really in his right mind, was he? He was furious, devastated, and hell-bent on... It was a foolishness, he will admit, and, when the blood-lust had passed, the grief faded, and the anger muted to something more like agony, all he wanted was to die.

Falling into the void did not grant him that mercy.

Falling into the void drove him further to madness, to an extent, showed him things he- to this day- cannot be sure of, whether they were truths, visions, dreams, Yggdrasil Themself. Then, he was saved by someone even more depraved, contrived of far greater lunacy than he:

Thanatos.

Then came pain. For a decade he did not scream, for a decade he did not break, for a decade, his entire being was _agony_. And then he could hold no longer. He screamed for five days before he gave in entirely.

They wanted the tesseract; they would give him Midgard.

He would've laughed, if he'd had the capacity, at the irony of the fact that his warden apparent would award him the same prestige as the man who had called himself his father for millennia.

He wondered, quietly, and in the back of his mind, as he began to plan- he was not called silvertongue for nothing, he could do this, deceive the Mad Titan, even while he was inside his head every step of the way; it would be the _greatest_ trick- who, indeed, had caused him more pain.

The chaos was a bit of a bonus, though he felt disinclined to feel cheer over the deaths it had caused- he remembers going along adventuring with Thor and Sif & the Warriors Three, all of them fighting and hurtling into danger, slaughtering for the fun of it, sometimes, for the pettiest reasons, and he remembers, too, feeling too sick for the feasts they would hold, after, filling their stomachs as they told _gruesome_ tales of the things they had done that day. He'd never had the constitution for it; he supposed he still didn't. But he'd done what he had to do, with just enough theatrical gravitas to be believable, on both sides.

It was a good thing that he was so underestimated, or else no one would've bought it, the Avengers least of all, probably. He _still_ doesn't understand how anyone took him seriously when he said he would free them from freedom. There is a morbid irony in that, somewhere, probably.

The Chitauri were defeated, or, at least, held off for the time being- Loki has no doubt Thanatos would try again- and the tesseract was as safe as it could be, and... well, he was imprisoned again, but at least he was not being tortured. And he had more, in this cell, than most prisoners would have.

Perks of having once been a Prince.

No, that isn't fair. The Perks of having a good mother, despite everything he's done, everything that he is, she still loves him. It's petty, but he's still having trouble forgiving her for- for many things.

Gods, but he's bored. And tired. A little suicidal- he probably would've given into that feeling, if there were anything sharp on hand, but, unfortunately...

He still has his seiðr, though it's as trapped as he. Still, something to do.

Make an illusion, make another illusion, have them dance, make music for them to dance to, make the cell look more like a ballroom or some such. Absently try to remember how that one fairytale went, with the knight and his daughter. Try, valiantly, not to be disappointed when you remember that it ended with a Jötunn being slaughtered for trying to take the girl home to eat, or to fuck, depends on the age-group your telling the story to. It had been his favorite story as a child; he can't quite remember why.

When alarms sound, and it seems the castle is under attack, Loki goes to his bed and sleeps- he keeps the music, though, and casts silence on the alarms in the vicinity. He's sure they can handle it, though it has been a long time since someone invaded Asgard, it is not as if they are overly vulnerable, and, has he forgotten to mention? He's tired.

* * *

The nightmare, as it is, is simply a hazy fugue of pain and the smug grin of one of the more regular Chitauri to torture him. It would've convinced him into waking within another minute or so had it not been for the guard, knocking on the glass of his containment cell. He jolts up, startled, wishing for weapons he is unable to have or to conjure, here, and casts an illusion of himself more proper for the guard- who probably doesn't buy it, but never say he is without his pride and his dignity.

"What is it?"

"Your mother is dead."

Ah.

So they were not alright after all.

He should most definitely feel more than numb, shouldn't he? Well, there is this little bubble, he doesn't know if he should call it pain- he has been in so many different kinds of pain, but he still doesn't know how to recognize them all. It's. Unpleasant.

He will never see her again, never be able to forgive her- _had_ he wanted to forgive her? Had she wanted to be _forgiven_?

Her face, her voice, her hands, her teeth. He remembers, vividly, sitting in her lap, pulled close to her breast, and she had been laughing in a way she didn't often, with her mouth wide open and her head thrown back and all he had been able to think was that she had the _prettiest_ teeth. It was such a ridiculous thought, and he doesn't know why he's remembering that _now_.

He wants her scent.

He wants her _warmth_ , pressed into his skin until he forgets he has ice in his veins at all, until he's sure everything will be alright again, because she was his _mother_. She _was_.

"Who?" He has the illusion ask, and he hates how even and impartial his mirror-self sounds, as he himself curls up in his bed, lets that bubble slide up his throat and burn his cheeks, his eyes, lets the tears fall freely.

He has finally lost everything, has he not?

_"How?"_

The guard looks at him with undisguised hatred.

"Dark Elves," he says, curtly, and takes his leave without permitting any more questions.

Loki makes the illusion fade, he doesn't want to touch his seiðr right now, the thing he was so gifted with, the thing his mother taught him until he had outstripped her in everything she could do, the thing she told him did _not_ make him girlish or stupid or deceitful or weak, and, when one called him a nithing for relying on it instead of weapons, he had seen hers flare hot and terrifying, and had recognized the protectiveness for the love that it undoubtedly was, the loyalty. When had he forgotten that? Mistaken it for something crueler? When had he lost sight of her?

Why did he have to realize this all _now_ , when he would never see her again?

* * *

Thor comes for him, after a time, though he had not come once since the decree of eternal imprisonment. His only visitor, until now, had been his mother.

Loki does not want to see him, he wants to _die_ , more than even that, he wants to kill everything and anything that caused his mother's death, only he's not really one for genocide- well, not any longer at least- and all he has to go on is a vague generalized statement. He pulls an illusion out of himself, however exhausting, leans against the wall more fully, closes his eyes, and takes deep breaths.

"Loki enough. No more illusions," he says, as if it is just that easy.

Loki lets the mirage go.

"Did she suffer?" He asks, because he cares little about much else.

But Thor will not tell him, Loki's beginning to suspect no one will. He's here for something else- vengeance, to help with it, or something of the kind. He holds no hope for him as a brother, will put him right back in this cage once they're done- or, as his friends so kindly point out later, let whatever this last adventure is, be the death of him. He'd rather like that, really, dying.

He wonders if they realize.

* * *

His last trick is spectacular, though it ends in him nearly dying, it mostly ends in Jane being saved- as Thor wished- and the dark elf problem being solved, vengeance being dealt- as they both wished.

Loki isn't quite sure how he is still alive, but, somehow.

Thor is by his side, telling his father of the good deeds he's done, and Loki is left wondering why he thought it might change anything; he may be in his brother's good grace, somewhat, but he will _never_ be in the All-Father's. Which is why, despite his own passive suicidal tendencies, he'd let his seiðr trickle where it needed, because, even in the beginning of this journey, he'd managed to have a small, jaded, naive hope that if he'd been the _hero_ for once, maybe he could be forgiven, maybe he'd-

Gods, what is wrong with him? Why, in the name of everything sane, does he still care?

"No," he sighs, more resigned than anything when Odin refuses Thor's appeal on his behalf and demands Loki be taken back to the dungeons. Thor looks at him, startled. "If you re-sentence me to death, I will not fight you, I will go along willingly, I swear this upon the only person who has ever truly, unconditionally loved me, and who I, despite my flaws and idiocy, did so love in return- my mother, Frigga."

Odin's lips curl into an all-too-familiar sneer, and Thor looks at him with this wide-eyed, haunted sort of sadness.

"But I'm not going back into that cell, I _can't_. I have contingencies in place, I set them almost the second Thor let me out-" he shoots an apologetic glance at the Thunderer, and is surprised to see a mild amount of reluctant understanding there; "if you will not kill me, I'm leaving."

Odin slams down the butt of his spear, begins howling out to Thor and the guards to reprimand the prisoner, and Loki heaves a heavier sigh, turning to his big brother.

"Brother," he murmurs, and wraps his arms around him in something too strained to really be called a hug. There is still so much _hurt_ between them, too many terrible things, too little trust, but he lost his mother before he could recognize how much she meant to him, before he could allow any sort of forgiveness to soothe all of the pain, and he's going to have to live with that for the rest of his days- he won't make the same mistake with Thor. And he knows, already, that if he puts effort into it, the big, loveable, teddy-bear dolt will, too. It feels a little shameful, but what does his pride matter, in the face of this? Not much, he decides, and presses a chaste kiss to Thor's cheek. "May the Norns smile upon you and yours."

Thor lets out a rough, shaky breath, and crushes him in a sudden, emphatic embrace.

"That we shall see each other again, brother," he rasps, and Loki can only smile.

He taps into his power and the crumbs of it he left in places he knows will lead him to _elsewhere_ , and within one breath and the next, he is gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just spitballin', but, if Loki were to have a superhero name, what do you think it would be?
> 
> Also, M/M-- who should he be paired up with? Tony? Thor? Fucking Daredevil? I don't know, lol
> 
> PS: Soooooooo much handwaving. Ignore me. Over here, taking canon, and fingerpainting with it, lmao


	2. The Goddess of The Mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is mostly a random world-building bridge chapter, because- because- because.
> 
> I hope you like it <3
> 
> Space-opera!!! lmao
> 
> Also, I am officially 20 *pops confetti*

Paladia is... intriguing.

A Festival Planet, a tourism planet, shopping center, and a place where one can truly get lost. There are thousands of docks here, and so many people coming and going it would be impossible to keep track. There's only really three hours every other week of daylight, but it's a warm planet despite this, and there's _always_ a festival going on, it never ends.

The Festival of The Crystal Goddess, the Goddess of The Mind, Yodhreshbitta'mehm, lasts for twelve of Paladia's egregiously long days.

Crystal type items are being sold, along with things that strengthen the mind, logic, magic, unique foods and teas and scientific devices. There's a parade going past, stalls of every kind set up along every road, and people coming from many different kinds of planets to celebrate their goddess, or to just refuel and enjoy the festivities simply because of their proximity to them.

"Do you believe in her?" Asks one with scaled feline ears, a large dragon-like tail, and a mostly humanoid appearance. Dark-skinned with ephemeral patches of shimmering blue scales all over her, converged more on her arms and around her eyes than anywhere else. Her eyes are all cloud-clear iris and square pupils that dilate with the cadence of the light and her mood. Long, pale, _pale_ blue hair caresses her bare form, which isn't quite so shocking in this galaxy, where most of the native species have no cultural relationship with clothing beyond the selling of it to foreigners.

"Mehm'bitta?" He clarifies, using the less formal name for the goddess as he watches the procession proceed down the earthen road, staying off to the side with the rest of the crowd, who cheer when one of the floats send liquid flames into the sky that change shape, before dripping down colorful, candied rain. The diminutive creature beside him leaps up to catch a droplet on her tongue and giggles when her next exhale comes out rainbow-colored fog.

"Yes, do you believe in her?"

"In some of her forms, perhaps."

The girl grins at him, her teeth rows of sharp, gray glass, which would probably be terrifying under a different context.

"Then have her blessings," she purrs, and drops two fingers into the clay bowl she'd been carrying, filled with a white paste that smells faintly of _other_ , bringing up her fingertips, she delicately paints a wing shape on his cheek as she kisses his temple, "you look like you could use them, quietling."

And then she's off, dancing through the crowd to find another in need of adornment.

Loki huffs a little laugh, looks up at a sky filled with stars he doesn't recognize, and decides to move on as well.

The blessing actually helps in this regard, because when he goes in search of some ship or other that may take him on as passenger, a Seipkl Captain with the same mark on his cheek decides to allow him aboard for free.

Everyone on the ship is of a different world, all of them with interesting stories to tell, for those who might listen, and all but the passengers with specific jobs to do. It's a poor cargo ship, but the ambiance has the peculiar flavor of family, and he is pleased to spend time with them, for all the pain and yearning it brings.

The Captain tells him, later, after all the other passengers have been dropped off at their respective locations, that they don't have a cook, and the meals Loki has been making unbidden for the past few weeks have been lovely, so, if he wanted to stay...

"I don't know," Loki murmurs, sitting at the other end of the table, watching him swish amber liquid in his crystalline cup, "I do like it here, and all of you, but..."

"Doesn't feel like home, does it?" The lukewarm hues of his eyes become knowing, and Loki tries for a smile that he's sure comes out more of a grimace.

"No."

"Where does, then, mis'er?"

"I don't know."

"Stay, then," Shem says, "until you find the answer."

Loki blinks at him.

"Okay."

* * *

They travel, and he cooks, and he learns them all by name, face, and story.

Shem, the Captain, is a Seipkl- he is like a very large slug, with antennae and cavernous eyes that take no true form or color for very long at all; he can drink and nourish himself on metal filings, but does not eat solid foods as Aesir and Jötunn do- who was kidnapped by space-pirates when he was only a few thousand years old— quite young for his race, nowhere near adolescence. He became one of them, for a time, and then they were caught. He escaped from the prison's hold alone, conned a wasp of a woman for her ship, and moved onto another star-system altogether, to try his hand at a new life, a second chance. Their cargo-ship has seen it's days holding smuggled goods, but Shem swears he tries to stay on the right side of the law... most days.

Quiet, the Pilot and Navigator, is a Leyarsian- as was the girl who gave him the blessing on Paladia; they have scaled feline ears, dragon-like tails, and are mostly humanoid, otherwise- they do not speak, hence the name, and glare at almost everyone, just because they can. They use hand gestures to communicate, and they're always threatening to crash the ship if the others will not stop their idiocy. Loki's quite sure, at this point, that Quiet means none of their playful threats, for he has seen their love for the ship and its' crew.

Lilliana is the engineer's second, a Kosmt, insectoid creature, an orphan that Aznin, the engineer, picked up; she's a genius, and reminds him far too much of the Midgardian Tony for his liking. Babbling, self-sacrificing, bravado. She is sweet, and complains often that he doesn't eat enough of his own cooking because, apparently, he's too thin.

Aznin is Aesir, and recognized him the second he laid eyes on him, but said, pleasant and a little too disarming, that it mattered not. They were all running away from something.

Taffleruwa is a Faerie, Aznin's wife, and the very best diplomat they have on board, also the very best assassin, though you'd never guess it by looking at her, let alone talking to her.

MiMi is a shapeshifter, who, as of yet, has never been conscious enough to reveal her species. She's a narcoleptic scientist who takes care of the habitat, the air they breathe, the plants that make the oxygen and their food and so on. He's yet to see her _awake_ , but he _thinks_ she eats the food he makes her? Or perhaps her plants do? He decides it's not his place to question it. Shem told him he discovered her asleep on his ship one night, and the next night the plants were happier, and the third the air was cleaner, and the fourth they nearly had a garden, by the end of the week he decided to keep her.

Rikki, the doctor, is of Shanda'gh, all willow and spider-silk and flowing veils and shawls and dresses that keep their bodies mostly hidden, they are said to be made of secrets. As far as he can tell, Rikki, with her brusque-ness and ferocious, vivacious attitude, full-up on the brutality of candor, despite her mother-hen antics, has never kept anything secret in her life. She keeps to her culture's form of clothing, however, and beyond the shadow of her profile, none have seen the face that lies beyond her veil. She doesn't understand why anyone would want to- faces hold stories, and within stories is magic, and within magic is _power_ ; the idea that someone could steal that, steal her _face_ , is horrific to her, and she's said, on multiple occasions, _'I barely trust you fools with your own lifeblood, why on earth would I trust you with what is sacred to me?'_ Loki understands, he thinks, in a shallow sort of way.

He doesn't speak to them much, though he does listen, drinks in the information greedily. They all converge in the common dining area for three or four meals a day, and he cooks those meals for them happily, with his magic, with the alien plants MiMi interbreeds that make little sense to anyone but herself and are only sometimes edible, with the kitchen the ship has, and whatever is on hand.

Shem tells elaborate embellished stories of his time with the pirates, but only when he is three glasses of mead in, and otherwise hands out sagely advice or talks of their next job and whether or not they'll need to take on passengers when next they're docked. Quiet glares, as they are wont to do, but softens in the face of spiced, roasted meat-worm, and Loki is pleased that Rikki wasn't lying about that being their favorite food. Rikki smokes and tells them she won't be the one patching up the next gunshot wound, they can bleed out for all she cares. Quiet high-fives her and Shem laughs the rich-sounding laugh of a man used to their games, and far too fond to take any offense. Lilliana promises to stay well out of the way of danger if Rikki's going to be like _that_ , and Aznin raises an eyebrow at her before sharing a Look with Taffleruwa, because they both know how likely she is to keep her word on that (read: not at all). And Loki takes a share to MiMi, who is asleep in the greens-room.

Life is quiet, peaceful.

Loki craves more, a different kind of home, a different kind of peace, different stories.

Something unique, exhilarating, _new_.

Chaotic.

* * *

"Midgard," Loki breathes, when they get close enough to it that he could teleport down without much trouble. "Wha- why?"

Quiet glares at him, a significant kind of thing, but they're always glaring at everyone, and it's hard to read every single black look for exactly what it is. He thinks this one means they're calling him names in their head, it seems especially sardonic that way.

"Loki," Shem huffs, and he sounds like he is fond and exasperated all at once, an emotion Shem often has toward him, an emotion he still isn't used to inspiring. "In all our time together, it's the only place you've ever really talked about. Little as you speak, when you _do_ speak, people tend to listen. There is guilt in you, toward this place, much unfinished business, I can tell, and much longing." The Captain sighs, twiddles his antennae, and moves closer to Loki, luke-warm eyes twinkling with affection, "You are not happy here, restless. Mayhap- mayhap you will find the home you need there? D'you think?"

Loki swallows, "I haven't any idea. The things I did there... I was not in my right mind, I wasn't even under my own will, but I- I hurt many."

"Then repent," Shem says, "it is all you can do. All any of us can do."

Loki smirks, "You would know better than most."

Shem does a giant slug's equivalent of raising an eyebrow at him, and Loki's smirk melts into an actual smile.

"I will miss you," he says.

 _:Fuck off,:_ Quiet signs, before crushing him in an unexpected hug.

"Not for long," Shem decides, beaming, "we will be coming to visit; you can't get rid of us that easily, mis'er."

Loki wraps his arms around Quiet, shaking his head incredulously at the Captain and, in the back of his mind, thanking Mehm'bitta for her blessing with everything he has.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loki needs _friends_. So I gave him some, ^^
> 
> Seriously, what would Loki's superhero name be? Like, all I've got is Mistletoe, because there are _plotlines_ in my head, but it just seems like such a _ridiculous_ superhero name.
> 
> So far I'm leaning toward Loki/Tony, since there have been more of you wanting that anyway, but if you _desperately_ want a different ship, holler at me  <3


	3. Superhero Stone-Soup I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I just... tossed a buncha supers together with Loki- _as a superhero_ \- and... let it happen? I hope it's good, lol

"Hello Phil," A shadowy form greets the moment he enters his apartment. He sighs heavily as he closes the door.

"Loki."

Their last meeting had been... interesting. Apparently, him trying to kill the God when he knew damn well it wouldn't work, trying to protect his world, the lives of millions of innocent people- in doing that, he proved himself altruistic enough to be given _insight_. He'd gotten glimpses of Loki's true state of mind during the invasion, how hard he was fighting to _decieve_ , both the bad guys and the good, to _fail_ , he'd gotten scant, terrible, tiny sips of the torture he'd endured that brought him to where he was, and he'd gotten desperation.

Then he'd gotten a message, clear as day.

_They are watching me. They will try this again, and they'll know more about you. Prepare, and keep my secrets until I am gone, or else this will all fail._

"Is the Mad Titan coming, then?"

"Yes, but not now, that's not why I'm here," Loki murmurs, moving away from the corner and his shadows. He looks healthier, by enough of a margin that it's noticeable. Phil wonders what his sentence was in Asgard, if it _helped_. He doesn't have to wonder at what he'd endured previously, that even captivity might've helped him. What Thanatos visited on Loki was... He only caught snippets, really, and he has long, drawn out, terrifying nightmares about what Loki showed him. He expects he always will. You don't forget shit like that.

It's the only thing he's ever seen worse than Budapest, which _would_ be saying something, except he's pretty sure what he saw was worse than _everything_.

"Why _are_ you here?" Phil asks, doesn't even question why he's pulling down the whiskey from the cupboard. He has a feeling it's going to be a long night, and he has a feeling, too, that they could both use it, so he grabs two glasses and sits down heavily in his chair, offering the second glass and- kicking it out with his foot- the chair across from him, to Loki.

"Curiosity," the God explains, sitting, pouring two fingers of the dark amber liquid in Phil's cup, and then his own, before Phil can do anything about it. He wonders if it's some sort of custom, a cultural gap that he's missing. "I wanted to know how you were, since it seems everyone thinks me your murderer, and to be such, you should very well be dead, but as you are not...?"

"I saw inside your head, Loki," Phil says, gulping down the alcohol, savoring the burn, pouring himself more. "I knew what you were planning, and I had faith that the Avengers would fall in line with it, even without me- which is why I left, since I figured they'd find me out the second they saw me. Having information downloaded into your brain like that can be a little... I understand _why_ you had to do it, and I'm grateful that you did; with the information you gave me, and the time we have now- thanks to you- hopefully we'll actually be prepared for the shitstorm that's coming for us- although, you'll have to forgive me if I'm hoping they head to Asgard and skip us altogether, since that's where the Tesseract is."

"You're forgiven," Loki tells him, softly amused, taking a small sip of his own drink, making a noise of pleased surprise before taking another, bigger gulp. "But luck is not on anyone's side in this. Midgard is... a Gate? Of a kind. He will have to come through here to _get_ to Asgard, and, as far as he is concerned, your world slighted him." Loki shrugs, a _'what can you do'_ gesture that's shockingly human on him. "But even if you hadn't- he courts Death. Destruction and violence are things he enjoys greatly, and Midgardians are considered-- what was it I called you?"

"Weak, puny mortals, I think."

"Ah, yes, that. This is really quite good, may I have more?"

"Help yourself."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome... As I was saying: I had faith in them, but Fury didn't. Or, at least, he didn't have as much as I did. So, when I fell off of the map, he faked my death to get them working together. I was only planning on being MIA until you were finished with your Thing, but-"

"But you are... loyal, to this Fury, yes? And so you could not reveal yourself and uncover the lie."

"Something like that."

Loki is silent for a moment, then, "I am glad you're alive, son of Coal."

Phil snickers, but nods his thanks.

"How are preparations going?" Loki asks, and Phil tells him.

There are mutants, there are stowaway aliens, there's tech to be reverse-engineered. The Avengers, the Defenders, the X-Men, the Fantastic Four, more and more Agents of SHIELD. By the time the sun is coming up, the bottle is empty, and he's spilled thousands of state secrets to someone classified as a Super-Villian, an enemy of the world.

"So," Phil begins, when Loki gets up to go, "what are you going to do, now? Will you be staying awhile?"

"Yes... I'm going to help, where I can, maybe redeem myself."

Phil huffs, because Loki effectively saved the world with his crazy-ass scheme, and he's seeking _redemption_.

"You are... the most misunderstood guy I know."

Loki smiles at him, and then he's gone. Phil picks up the glasses, heads to the sink to wash them.

* * *

Tony, after all the doombots and mind-controlled superfish have been taken down, stares at the new superhero on-scene. It's not a new thing, having another superhero and/or vigilante come help out, especially when not all of the Avengers _can_ Assemble. If they're ever dealing in Hell's Kitchen, Daredevil is _always_ bound to be there, with or without the rest of the Defenders. Deadpool shows up _whenever_ the hell, and no, he doesn't exactly _help_ , he's just a snarky, insane, asshole. Spider-man keeps getting himself involved, awkward and sarcastic and probably _way_ too young for this shit. Sometimes Johnny Storm waltzes through, more to fuck with them than to help them, and, every once in awhile, some mutant or other decides to take part in the supervillain bashing of the day.

So, no, having a new hero show up in the middle of battle to help out isn't a _new_ thing, but...

He was all leather and scale mail, burnished gold and green, buckles and armor, a furred hoodie, fingerless gloves, black glossed nails, a dark green veil that covered his face from below the eyes down, with a silver coin chain overlay that chimed every time he moved, all this attached to a horned headband-type crown, his long, curly black hair pulled into a tight pony-tail. He was willow-lithe, a little frenetic when he fought, but cool-sweet at the end, as he made sure all the citizens caught in the cross-fire were okay. He was _beautiful_.

But there was something about those sun-soaked sea-glass emerald eyes that made Tony feel... suspicious. Wrong-footed. He really shouldn't be, considering this guy and his knife collection, along with his green-fire (Tony's assuming mutant, so he doesn't get a headache), probably shaved off a lot of time and energy in this battle, but _still_. There's just... He can't put his finger on it.

"Hey!" He calls, because he and tact got into a fight years ago, decided they were better off seeing other people. "New guy."

The face-veil tinkles like falling rain as the guy turns toward him, his eyes crinkle a little like he's smiling, he soothes the mother and the son he'd helped climb out from under some rubble until they're calm enough for him to leave them before sauntering over to him with all the grace of a dancer.

"I assume you mean me?" The man purrs, his voice accented, smokey-poetic, and a little deeper than he expects, for all his feminine features.

"Yeah. Do I know you from somewhere?"

The man blinks at him, then his eyes twinkle, "Oh, perhaps."

Tony makes a face, "You aren't a one-night stand who tried to slap me when I told you to leave, are you? Because I'm getting major vibes, here."

The other hero looks startled for a moment, before choking on a laugh that he tries, and fails, to swallow. "Dear Gods, no. My, what kind of life do you live that that is a question you even ask?"

"An interesting one," Tony tells him haughtily, and for some reason, new-guy's eyes soften at that.

"I'm sure," he murmurs. "Whether or not we once knew each other matters not, for now. Let us just say that I'm using my secret identity for... a second-chance, and, thereby, would like to keep my private matters private."

"Huh." Tony contemplates this, before consciously letting the recognition go; everyone has their reasons, everyone has their secrets, and, even if that's not how he did it- keeping himself secret- he gets the need, the want, to be someone other than yourself, to be safe from your own mistakes, sins. "Okay, then."

New-guy gives a nod of appreciation before turning to leave, but he stops when Tony calls out to him again.

"Yo, bean-pole! What do we call you?"

The guy seems to think on it a moment, before calling back, though his voice seems to waver, just a bit, "Mistletoe."

"Mistletoe?" Tony mumbles, the gut already weaving around debris to help another citizen, too far away to hear. "What kinda superhero name is _Mistletoe_?"

 _"Tony,"_ he hears Steve say sharply through the comms, and resigns himself to the mystery of it all.

"On my way, Cap."

* * *

Josie's has a new bartender. All Matt can tell about him is that he's british and his footsteps are quieter than any he's ever heard before, normally Foggy would fill in the gaps, but Foggy's eyes seem to... slide right past him. So do everyone else's.

Karen keeps forgetting Josie even _has_ a new bartender, even though he can tell, by the reaction other people have to him, that Luka is the type of attractive that is _not_ forgettable.

Foggy thinks he's debonair one second, and very, very plain the next.

Josie says he's got good credentials, or she _thinks_ he does; she was drunk when she hired him, but he does good work, and he's better than that filthy thief Petunia.

Matt's a little intrigued.

Moreso when he hears that same smoke-dry voice from a fellow vigilante, Mistletoe.

"This is just... I don't even have words for the... _why_ are you trying to kidnap fellow mort- human beings?"

Matt sticks to the roof parallel the alleyway where Mistletoe has apprehended Taurens, someone who's been trying, regularly, to round up a group of random people to abduct. He doesn't actually know why, despite having stopped him twice before now, because he always ends up causing a diversion to get away. Which is part of the reason Matt hasn't swung down yet, because Mistletoe may have apprehended him for the moment, but if the guy gets away, this may be Matt's chance to finally _catch_ him.

"None of your fucking business!" Taurens shouts, all growl-grit bravado; he smells like too much sweat, his heart is beating double-time, and Matt can tell he's too frustrated to be steady, even as he hears a cannister pop open and smells chemicals in the air.

"Well, you're right, there," Mistletoe says, moves to sit- though on _what_ Matt doesn't know, but there can't be many _chairs_ in an alley- crossing his legs primly and, with a sigh, clicking his fingers. The chemicals _disappear_ , Taurens' body-heat and heart-rate go up as he struggles, but, seemingly, can't manage to actually _move_. "It really isn't."

"What the hell did you _do_ to me?"

"Magic," Mistletoe tells him, easy, and there's a swish, a click, a few sounds he isn't close enough to interpret.

"Fuck you- fuck _off!_ "

"No, no, no, because you were right, after all, it isn't _my_ business. It _is_ , however-" Taurens grunts, gets tossed up inhumanly high, and lands in a hog-tied heap right in front of Matt on the roof he was lurking on two seconds before Mistletoe seems to just _manifest_ there- "yours, is it not?"

Matt actually finds himself blanking for a moment. "Sure," he agrees eventually, "something like that."

"Hmm. So nice to meet you, Daredevil; I hope you don't mind the intrusion, I know Hell's Kitchen belongs to the Defenders."

"Heh, thanks for the consideration. Most people wouldn't care."

"Oh, but it is your home, not mine. It's just, I was in the area, and this man-" there's a gust of displaced air as the other hero's leg kicks out, and Tauren's grunt of pain is muffled enough that Matt's beginning to suspect a gag may be involved- "was doing _vile_ things, and I couldn't quite help myself." Mistletoe huffs a sigh, "Ludicrous, locking people in the back of a van after you've drugged them like cattle, no matter _what_ the reason."

"I understand the feeling," Matt snorts, leaning down to haul the guy up by the ropes tightly binding him- and, _wow_ , dragonfly sleeve? Impressive.

"Well met, Devil of Hell's Kitchen," Mistletoe says with a smile in his voice, then he turns to Tauren and says, equally light: "You are a reeking piece of bog-fungus, and I do _so_ hope never to see you again."

Then he's gone, vanished into thin air like he was never there to begin with. Huh.

* * *

Luka, once he begins paying more attention, is interesting. He's private, without being suspicious, a master of misdirection, and _charming_ in a way that goaded the other people he interacted with into divulging near to everything without even giving it a second thought.

And, as Matt suspected, he _is_ Mistletoe.

He'd thought, at first, that maybe the man was a mutant, but, so far as he's been able to glean, he's capable of illusions, fire, and teleportation, possibly more. Maybe he wasn't lying that night he'd apprehended Tauren, maybe it really _was_ magic; they lived in a world with aliens, mutants, superheroes, science capable of _insane_ things, if you wanted to survive in New York, keeping an open mind was a must. Besides, he may never have _met_ Doctor Strange, but he'd certainly _heard_ of him, and what _Danny_ did was kind of magical... ish.

("You're _stalking him_ , Matt. You are totally stalking our bartender."

"I am not _stalking_ him, Foggy."

"Matt. Matt, we've talked about this, using your blind super-ninja skills to _follow_ people and _listen in_ on them for _long periods of time_ is the very _definition_ of _stalking_! Normal people just use binoculours and, and cameras and bugs and-"

 _"Foggy."_ )

Further surveillance shows that Luka, despite living in and having a job in Hell's Kitchen, avoids actually operating there as a hero. He tends to go solo, often actively steering clear of other heroes' 'territory', though he does end up with the Avengers from time to time- which is how Matt knew about him in the first place, Tony is a wonderful gossip, Jess is, too, and those two get together for drinks and poker every tuesday; she's always trying to drink him under the table, he's always trying to beat her at poker, and they both end up bickering like two old ladies until Jess passes out and/or Tony loses all his chips. On wednesday Jess will be hung over like nobody's business and slurring on about every little thing they talked about.

They essentially perpetuate the hero rumor-mill. He knows that it's not just them at the poker table, and he's wondered, once or twice, how many heroes, villains, and agencies only know as much as they know because of that stupid card-game.

He's also beginning to suspect whatever _magic_ Luka's capable of being the reason why no one who's _seen_ him- outside of his hero's persona- can really retain any information _about_ him.

"There's more to you than meets the eye," he tells him one night, with Foggy and Karen passed out on either side of him, and barely anyone else around considering how late it is and the fact that it's not a busy day.

"Perhaps," Luka concedes, placing a plate of something that smells _sinfully_ good in front of him. "On the house. For dealing with the bog-fungus."

Matt's eyebrows raise. "I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about, but I'm not about to turn down free food."

Luka hums in the back of his throat and moves to take care of another customer.

So. That's another person who knows about his secret identity. He wonders if he should be more worried than he is. _Damn_ , though, he's pretty sure this is the best sandwich he's ever eaten in his entire life. Buttery, rich, crisp, meaty, and with nothing of that familiar chemical undertone that he's used to; all clean, clear, savory flavor.

"Shhhhh, Matty," Foggy mumbles, "'m tryin' to sleep. What're you doin'? Are you-" a hiccuping laugh, then, in a breathless, drunken whisper, "Are you tryin'a have _sex_ with _food_ , you're so _weird_ , Ma-- mrfgh, mmm, oh, Jesus, that's good."

"Uh huh," Matt agrees, amused, and feeds his friend another bite when he blearily opens his mouth for more. Hears Luka snicker when he catches them, before murmuring under his breath, "I shall make you another." Just as Karen begins to stir cooing:

"Oooh, that smells _good_. I want some. Can I have some?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, two things, I'm sorry to any and all who had a superhero name they suggested that didn't get used, but Mistletoe ended up being the thing I wrote, even though it's absolutely ridiculous and yours were probably better. Thank you for all the suggestions, though!!!
> 
> Second thing, definitely leaning more toward Loki/Tony, but I'm still up for suggestions? I don't know, I love you guys, x's and o's and _love!_
> 
> Also, also, _Matt_ , lmfao; ahhhhhhhhhh, you're such a stalker


	4. Superhero Stone-Soup II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Throws Loki into a cabal of Superheroes... Eats popcorn.

Peter's been trying to beat him back for the past thirty minutes, but, now, even with the healing factor, he's beaten up, bloodied, bruised, and the Goblin is pressed up against him, bony claws wrapped around his throat, cutting off his air supply, long tongue slopping out of his mouth to lick up his cheek. He can feel the slick line of drool dampen his suit's mask and shivers.

"Fucking... per..vert..." He gasps, and the Goblin laughs, presses him harder against the billboard behind him.

"I have you, _now,_ li **tt** le _spider,"_ he grins, so, so fucking _pleased_ , and then his grip loosens and Peter can _breathe_ , the dark spots fading into his vision clearing. "Bu **t** I _don't_ think I will kill you jus **t** _ye **t**_. How about we... play a li **tt** le _game_ firs **t** , hmm?"

"How about you go trip over a knife," Peter rasps, still pinned, unable to move, choking on the air he was teased with as the Goblin's hand grips his throat again, vice-tight, building pressure, until he's dizzy and heavy and too light all at once, almost floating.

"Now, now," he begins, and, shit, this guy is _crazy_ \- it sounds like he's fucking _pouting_ , Jesus Mary Magdeline- "that wasn't ve **ry** _nice_ of you, now _was_ i **t**? Say you're _sorry_ , Par **k** er; say you're _**SORRY!"**_

He's pretty sure he _hears_ his ribs crack when Green Goblin begins punching his stomach repeatedly, over, and over, and over. "So-sor- ugh... _Sorry!"_

"Ah," Goblin coos, "th _at's_ my good bo **y**. Good, good li **tt** le _spider."_

Then there's a shift in the air, a slight tinkle of sound, like wind-chimes, and all of a sudden the Goblin has charcoal-turquoise flames wrapping around his wrists, _burning_ him, forcing him to let go.

A man in black, gold, and ephemeral greens stands there, his clothes a mix of scale mail, buckles, leather, and fur, armored shirt, pants, and boots, a long, hooded coat, fingerless gloves, and a burnished horned headdress that has a silk face-veil attached, covering all but his eyes and the bridge of his nose. Glossy black hair is pulled into a tight pony-tail, waterfalls of curls cascading down his shoulders. Sleek silver daggers are held in elegant looking hands, and anger glitters in the shards of sharpened emeralds that are his irises.

The Green Goblin _shrieks_ like a hyena pierced by something too-real for his own madness, and lashes out toward the stranger, who twists away like they're _dancing_ , spins and moves with honed grace, ethereal, transcendent. Sunlight catches on his knife before it weaves into the tapestry of movement, and then the stranger is slashing, and the Goblin is only on the defensive for a moment before he's throwing himself off the roof, caught by his glider, and lifting up into the air.

"I have _no business_ with _you!_ Who _are_ you? _Why_ are you coming _between_ us?" The Goblin hisses, clutching his shoulder. The ruby-colored liquid is too rich, too stark in the sunlight, reminds him of christmas, oozing between garish green claws. He wonders what the Goblin would look like decorated with ornaments and holly.

Peter blinks. He's pretty sure he's going into shock, because that was _so_ not rational thought to have.

"Well," the stranger replies, shrugging, "you stole my color; I hate you on principle." His smoke-wine voice is playing at even, light, but Peter can hear the unrelenting fury under it that only gets stronger when he says, "And you were hurting a _child_ -" Peter takes offence to that, or he _would_ , if he hadn't nearly been choked to death two minutes ago- "you _vile_ monster, why in the Gods' names _wouldn't_ I come between you?"

Green makes some sort of remark about that, but Peter feels dizzy, like he's fading, _losing_ something, and then the other hero is much closer and the Green Goblin, so far as he can tell, is gone.

"Spiderman?" Asks the stranger, cupping his face in his hands and giving him a little shake. All Peter can manage in reply is an inarticulate moan. "Oh, Hel."

* * *

_ 'Sir, I am detecting an odd frequency.' _

"Goddamnit, J," Tony sighs, pulling away from his work to glare up at one of the AI's cameras, "who is it this time? Houdini? Richards?"

_ 'Neither, Sir. I do believe the signature is new, and it's increasing on the medical floors as we speak.' _

"The medical floors? Uh, contact Bruce... and Hawkguy; Tasha and Cap are still out aren't they?" He asks as he stands and walks toward his personal elevator, the doors already opening for him.

_ 'I believe so, Sir. Would you like me to inform Mr. Wilson as well?' _

"Nah, it's uhhh-" _'6:30 AM, Sir.'_ "Wow. Anyway, he's probably out running, let him have his fun while Steve isn't here to troll 'im, huh?"

 _'Of course, Sir.'_ He's goddamned _proud_ of his genius, that his AI can manage to sound vaguely amused and fond at the same time.

"Good on ya', J," he murmurs softly as the elevator takes him up to the medical floors, where Bruce is already waiting for him, looking anxious. They walk briskly toward the glass doors that permit them into a big room full of hospital equipment and beds, there's a sizzle-tang in the air and the smell, sharp, of mint and something thin, airy, that he can't put his finger on.

Then a sound, like wind-chimes, and there's Mistletoe, standing in the middle of the room with a very bloodied looking Spiderman in a fucking bridal carry.

"Holy _shit_."

"My sentiments exactly," the other hero says, moving to put Spiderman down on one of the beds as gently as he possibly can. "My apologies for intruding, truly, but I could think of nowhere else to go that might preserve him as _well_ as his secret identity."

"Okay, okay," Tony huffs out a breath, running his hands through his hair, "Bruce-"

"Yeah, I- I'll need to know what happened, and- but I think-" he rushes over to the broken hero on the bed, already slapping on periwinkle-colored medical gloves and using scissors to cut away the parts of the suit around his injuries- "I think I've got it; it's extensive, but not currently life-threatening, and he _does_ have a healing factor, so-"

"So, I don't have to call a SHIELD Medic in? Because you know how much I hate doing that."

Bruce snorts even as he begins preparing to wash the wounds and patch them up. _"Everyone_ knows how much you hate doing that."

"If you'll excuse me," Mistletoe cuts in, smoothly picking up the scissors Bruce put down and slicing the neck of Spiderman's suit open, revealing a grizzly bruise around his throat, "but I think you may want to check the possible internal damage around this area."

"Jesus Christ, what even _happened_ to him?" Bruce breathes, the tremor in his voice betraying how shaken he is at seeing the younger hero so beaten up.

"I know not," Mistletoe murmurs, and he sounds _extremely_ discomfited by this. "I found him with a green- green-" he lets out an aggravated noise- " _something_ , it wasn't _human_ , certainly, and grown where this boy is very obviously _not_." The disgust is thick in his voice when he says this, and Tony raises an eyebrow at him.

 _"You_ know how old he is? Spidey won't tell anyone, and even Tasha hasn't been able to guess."

Mistletoe shrugs, "I don't know it exactly, only that he is not yet out of childhood."

"Hmm..." Tony watches as Bruce deftly controls the tech, scanning the kid's injuries and treating them, all the while muttering to himself, before asking, "So... how the hell'd you get in here?"

Mistletoe's breath seems to halt for a moment, which is long enough, apparently, because then _Clint's_ bursting in, and in the moment he's distracted by the now-worried archer, Mistletoe disappears.

* * *

Loki, with an almost morbid fascination, watches someone he knows only as Deadpool, and _'the merc with a mouth'_ , go after the monster who hurt that young boy with a sort of perilous, insane viciousness that, for all his fury, Loki doesn't think he ever really could've accomplished. Not with as much _fervor_ , anyway.

It took him three days, and connections he _barely_ had, to find Norman Osborn.

He isn't ashamed to admit that he wanted to avenge Spiderman, it seems that kind of pull is what makes the best heroes _anyway_ , so why deny it? But, too, he was curious. The Green Goblin wasn't an alien, or a mutant, he was something more like the Hulk, a science experiment gone wrong, after figuring _that_ out, tracking him down became infinitely easier.

He does wonder, if part of this bubbling rage boiling him from the inside out has to do with... well. Loki remembers being close to the Spider's age, for his species, remembers his big brother holding him still as dwarves poked through tender skin with a vicious needle, sewing his lips shut with enchanted thread. He remembers, even before that, Sif, Fandral, Hogun, and Volstagg doing things, horrible things that were so _similar_ to what the Goblin was doing to the young superhero. And you can be told that you are not a child, you can be told to _grow up, you are a warrior, you are an heir, weakness will not be **tolerated**_ , and you can do your level best. But pain is still pain, and childhood is still tender, and pride can only protect you for so long before you go mad with it.

Loki knows, because he visited the Spider (when he was sure he wouldn't get accosted by questions that he wasn't very sure how to answer, since he didn't quite know this world's position on seiðr- magic- since he wasn't sure how many magic-users were even _known_ on this planet, since he didn't want anyone to be _suspicious_ of him.) that he won't be treated as such, mortals tend to their wounded _compassionately_ \- which had, if he's entirely honest, _astounded_ him, at first- and it seems they have quite a different take on how to handle wounded _children_. In Asgard, their care for the boy, both his body and, especially, his mind, would be considered coddling.

Loki's glad for it, despite how he might've been conditioned, because the Spider being safe and whole and _untainted_ by the experience is, truly, all he wants- well, he also wants to rip the Green Goblin to shreds for what he's done, but by the sounds of the man being stabbed and slashed repeatedly with katanas, compounded onto the fact that he's been thrown through at least four consecutive walls, Loki's pretty sure it's being taken care of.

"And _that_ ," Deadpool snarls, "is from the Little Yellow Box in the _right_ corner!" He's heaving air, and Norman Osborn- Loki stretches a tendril of magic out to check- "Oh, he's dead," the red latex'ed man tells him, all of a sudden jovial where he was feral and bloodthirsty before. He slides his katanas back in their sheathes as he gets up off of the... there is no delicate way to put the state Osborn is currently in. _"Sooooooooooo_ dead."

Then Deadpool is slinking over to him, his mask in the shape of a boyish grin.

"So, you're Loki, right?"

Loki blinks.

"Oh, don't worry," he stage whispers, his hand dramatically blocking his mouth from view of imaginary passers-by as he talks secretively out of the side of his mouth, "I can keep a secret- or, wait, that's not right. What's the thing? Oh, yeah! I _can't_ keep a secret," he snorts, "but no one will _believe_ me, anyway, I'm _crazy!"_ Then he laughs, and laughs, and laughs.

Loki blinks again, rather dumbly.

"Oh, you're totally freaking out, aren't you?" Yes, he kind of is. "Awwww, that's so sweet; the Author made you all suspicious, you're _adorable_. Just an _adorable widdle supervillain, yesh you are!"_

Loki, abruptly, snaps the fuck out of it, and vaguely considers slicing this man's throat.

"Nawh, c'mon, you can't kill me."

"What sort of mind-reader are you?"

" _Why_ does everyone always think that?" He moans pitifully, "It's not _mind-reading_. It's the _fourth wall_. I _broke_ it. So, y'know." He waves a hand around, and Loki narrows his eyes. This is not an evil man, he thinks, so he'd have no justification other than pure annoyance. Deadpool's mask shifts with an unreadable expression.

"You're grumpy," he decides plainly, "and you're ruining my afterglow." Then he grabs Loki by the arm, and the God's honestly too startled by his gall to stop him, "I know what'll help. Let's go get _burritos_."

* * *

Burritos, he decides, are actually quite delicious. The company makes absolutely no sense, and he finds himself questioning, often, why he doesn't just _teleport out of there_ , but... Deadpool can be _snarky_ , and if you steel your nerves for the astonishing amount of nonsense... marginally less annoying than his initial impression made him out to be.

So he stays, he eats, he relaxes, and, by the end of the night finds himself in, despite himself, a good mood.

"Hey," the man- Wade, he'd said to call him- and his tone is solemn and serious in a way that, even only having known him for a few hours, Loki knows is out of character. _"Thank you_ , for saving him. He would'a died, if not for you, so. And you're not a bad guy, I promise to put in a good word with the Author, tell them not to let any bad guys kill you- well, right after I have a _looooonnnggg_ discussion with them for hurting Spidey."

Loki only really understood the first part of that, and, he must say, despite how Wade... grates. His gratitude is touching.

"I am glad the Spider was not more grievously harmed," Loki agrees, and Wade lifts his cup in a silent _'cheers'_ , which, Loki thinks, is as good as a goodbye, and, with a slight smile, takes the invitation to leave, whether or not Deadpool meant it that way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you're wondering, is Spideypool going to be a background thing.... probably, yes, lol
> 
> Also, do I subscribe to the idea that Green Goblin is creepy as _fuck_? Yes. Do I subscribe to the idea that fourth-wall breaking = minor omniscience and Wade Wilson is practically a demi-god in his own right? Also, yes, lol;; ignore me while I get my ass kicked by Spiderman's beau.
> 
> X-Men, coming up next! ♥♥♥


End file.
